


Static

by notabatman



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabatman/pseuds/notabatman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Note: Fic mostly Adam)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

_Such a stupid fucking idea._

Adam was beginning to almost hope that someone would notice; that there’d be a shift in the curtains, a shadowy face at the window peering out at him, phone in hand ready to call the cops. The longer he sat slumped in the tattered car seat the more he wondered what had possessed him to find this house in the first place.

It was a kind of ominous residence, shadowed against the night sky and distanced somewhat back from the darkened street. A crinkled crackling sound came from the heating vents in the middle of the dashboard, and instinctively Adam’s lean fingers stretched out to touch the air before them – cold. “Piece of shit,” harsh words were muted beneath his breath, punctuated with a thump as his foot connected angrily with the floor of the vehicle.

He hadn’t slept for weeks; at least Adam thought it was weeks. After a certain amount of days and nights passing you by it wasn’t unusual for each one to run smoothly into the next; an entire month feeling like just one slow day.  Sometimes he would catch himself falling to sleep – lulling into a false sense of security – and his entire body would shift from his fingers to his toes, forcing Adam into being awake once more.

Eventually he forced himself to the doctor, more so due to his mother’s prodding than his own ingenuity. He’d been subscribed what Adam figured was enough pain killers and sleeping pills to numb a horse – with strict instructions to avoid taking the two together “or there are serious repercussions”. When the pain in his shoulder was unbearable and he hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks, such vague warnings were not enough of a worry to stop him downing as many of the pills as he could stomach however.

Television was something that Adam had grown to dislike; the constant chatter, noise, the laugh tracks echoing corpses long buried, CSI, law shows, dead bodies, and the Jigsaw cases. More victims had arisen and as a result there were often some kind of specials on TV. Some were about the man himself, psychologists and cops, doctors and therapists all taking their chance to try and explain why the fuck the guy does whatever it is he does.

Then there were the victims. He’d been on one of those shows once or twice that he knew of, stock security footage of him walking up to his apartment mainly, because talking to bullshit reporters was one of the things Adam least wanted to waste his life doing. What was there to gain? He could probably sell his story for a couple of hundred bucks to a newspaper or something, but there was nothing appealing in that. The few survivors who’d done it had shortly followed with the great idea of blowing their own brains out. Stupid way to do it, Adam always thought.

Last night had been no different to the many before it; cold and painful and _tired._ In the end he had resorted to taking a few sleeping pills and sprawling himself across the frayed fabric lounge chair. The low hum of the television seeped throughout the apartment, interrupted only by the young man’s shallow breaths.  It was beginning to feel like a well-worn routine; spending days and nights trying to just get some fucking _sleep_ like a normal, functioning, human being. Before finally resorting to the pills and the comforting murmur of the television, just lying there and almost hoping the medication would send him into such a deep sleep that he’d never have to wake up again.

That was the irony of the situation, really. He had been singled out because instead of living his own life, he watched others. Ignoring the fact that it was his fucking _profession_ , and the money he made from it went to feeding himself. Well… most of the time. If you listened to these television shows that’s entirely what the Jigsaw guy’s thing was – forcing people to appreciate their lives, or have no life to appreciate.

But now he would be happy to die. _Now_ he couldn’t even close his eyes without seeing the crumpled and beaten image that felt as though it was tattooed to the backs of his eyelids. The nose crushed into the fracturing skull, the blood catching in the cracks splintering the grimy moulded tiles. Matted and bloodied hair sticking to the pale skin accented with dark red rivers and patches. The _crack, crack_ as the lid came into contact with the man’s skull again and again until Adam couldn’t breathe, adrenaline sending his own blood spinning into his head and tears clogging the back of his throat.

As though he simply clicked his fingers the image – plain as day – disappeared and the dim and familiar sight of the cramped apartment shifted back into Adam’s view. His gaze impulsively shifted to the television with the sound turned low; a frown creasing his brow as a familiar figure moved across the screen.

He walked with a slight limp, a cane helping to keep him balanced as he moved down the hallway, followed by a shaky camera. The screen flicked to black for a moment before an older man sitting in a leather chair filled the screen. For a second Adam was certain he hadn’t woken at all, he was sleeping and dreaming because it was _Lawrence_. He couldn’t mistake it.

Fingers fumbling in the dark for the remote, Adam’s gaze remained fixed on the television as though he was certain if he looked away for even a second Lawrence would be gone and that would be it. The green bars appeared on the screen as the sound became amplified; the familiar, comforting but well-worn voice rising above the silence, “- It’s different, of course.”

Another voice, from somewhere off of the camera posed a question, “What does your wife and daughter think of you returning to work after such a traumatic incident?”

Lawrence was silent for a moment, an attempt at a warm smile passing across his face, “Of course they don’t entirely approve,” he paused for a second allowing himself a hollow laugh, “After all… they, uh, they do think he was possibly one of my patients.”

Even now, sitting huddled in his cold car, Lawrence’s response to that question kept playing in his mind; an old cassette on repeat. He couldn’t remember much else of the program now, because it hadn’t been much longer before Adam drifted off to a deep sleep. The longest, least interrupted sleep he’d had for as long as he could remember.

When he woke however, Adam knew that he had to find him. It hadn’t been hard to find what hospital Lawrence was employed at now; nor was it hard to track him to his home again. Of course they had moved, because unlike Adam, it was something they could afford. Lawrence probably would never risk having anything happen to his daughter after that either, he was certain.

He hadn’t expected it to be this hard to just get out of the beaten old car, to walk up the driveway and knock on the front door. Maybe it was because there was a chance Lawrence’s wife would answer; tell him to go away, to never come back, because Lawrence didn’t need any more reminders then that persistent limp of his to what he’d been through. But what was the point in coming all of this way if he couldn’t even walk up to the _fucking door_?

A low rumble suddenly split the air, followed by a mechanic whirring as the garage door further up the driveway began to rise. Breath catching in his throat, Adam’s body instinctively lowered further down into the car; just below the window to be sure they didn’t see him as the car reversed out into the quiet street.

Adam stretched and craned his neck to get a better view when the vehicle straightened to begin driving in the opposite direction. From here all he was able to get a glimpse of was a head full of long hair, but it was enough to know that this was his chance.

-

The day had been quiet, uneventful. It was nice; Lawrence would have to admit, not to have to constantly worry that anything could happen. It could be a car crash, a supposedly drunk driver slamming into the side of their shining black sedan. Or the lie of a family emergency, an unknown uncle coming to pick up Diana from school - his daughter disappearing never to be seen from again. Lawrence was certain that he had such a small grip on his family that anything could happen and he would lose them once more.

A frustrated sigh escaped his mouth as he reached across the gap between the lounge chair and the coffee table for the glass of liquor perched on the edge. Just as his fingers made contact with the cool material the shrill ring of the doorbell cut through his thoughts. He sat for a moment, uncertain of whether to venture through the front hallway or not.  They were expecting no visitors and it was dark and cold outside, so no salesman in their right mind would be making a call.

“Coming, I’m coming.” The muttered words followed Lawrence toward the front door, the thought that perhaps it was his wife having forgot her house keys mulling about his mind. When he grasped the door handle and allowed the door to swing open it was a sight completely different.

He was too thin, hair unkempt, face pallid, almost hollow. It was like he had never left the wretched bathroom, deprived of food and sunlight, human companionship. It was a surprise, seeing the young figure shadowed by the doorway to Lawrence’s home; surprising, but not unwelcome. There wasn’t quite enough time for Lawrence to find the words he wanted to say, the right ones to apologise, or thank him, before Adam’s uncertain voice cut through the silence. “I’m sorry, I know… I shouldn’t, I just –“ The words tumbled over one another, at the same rate as the thoughts whirring in and out of his mind, “I don’t know what to do. I just… I need someone, please,” The tint of frustration in Adam’s tone continued to grow until it seeped from every syllable. His shaking fingers rising and pushing through his mop of dripping dark hair as his gaze flitted between the floor and Lawrence, “I need _you_.”


End file.
